


The Day of L'Amour

by twoscarypandas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Food Sex, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoscarypandas/pseuds/twoscarypandas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France Hates Valentine's Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day of L'Amour

Title: The Day of L'Amour

Author: twoscarypandas

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Food-Sex, Foursome, France.

Summary: France hates Valentine's Day.

 

The date was circled three times on France’s calendar, and he’d set a special alarm, refusing to let himself be caught off-guard this year. Last year… Oh, last year, he’d been unprepared. He’d been sloppy. But, this year, he would be at his prime. At his peak. At his most ready.

Even though he positively hated Valentine’s Day.

He woke at six in the morning and took a double-dose of allergy medication. Then he took a quick shower and brushed his teeth and went to the kitchen for a _very_ light breakfast. But, the minute he’d poured his espresso, the doorbell rang. He tensed, then sighed, staring down at his cup and wishing he could just go back to bed.

But. What good would it do to show the world that he despised the Day of L’amour?

He answered the door and found a delivery man with a beautiful bouquet and a box of Swiss chocolates. Of course. Vosh was always early. He set the vase on the window sill by the door and took the chocolates to his dining room.

This was only the beginning.

\--

Eight hours later, England stood at the door of France’s gorgeous estate and buzzed the doorbell for the thirtieth time.

This was… irregular.

It had always struck Arthur as odd that Francis refused to see him on Valentine’s Day, even when they were on the best of terms. It was strange. He always sent flowers, candy, gifts of great expense. But all he ever got was the card that Francis sent everyone and his usual gift of French macarons, which were what he always sent everyone. For a romantic, Francis was steadfastly generic on Valentine’s Day.

But today he was going to see him. He was going to see him, wish him a Happy Valentine’s, and give him a kiss. He deserved that much on Valentine’s Day, for all the years they’ve been fucking. Buzzing the doorbell again, he finally sighed and tried the door handle. It was unlocked.

When he stepped inside, he was nearly thrown back by the sheer amount of pollen in the air. Flowers, flowers everywhere. Huge bouquets, ones that dwarfed his own by several feet, lined the hall and the window sill, some blocked doorways and stretched to the ceiling. A Danish flag made of roses, a huge arrangement of Edelweiss from Austria. The whole room stunk of floral life and he threw himself into the main salon to escape the odor.

There he found… a menagerie of gifts. Fruit baskets, cakes, tarts, chocolates, candy, kittens and puppies chasing each other with little red bows on their collars. There was a birdcage with two love birds singing in the corner, and pair of peacocks strutting around, snapping whatever came near them. A fountain had been created in the middle of the parlor, and swans swam in it together, giving nasty looks to any puppy or kitty that got too close to the water. A string quartet in the corner played sweet, up-beat melody and there were three chefs arguing in the kitchen as one tried to prepare a lobster dish and another was trying to create a Chinese banquet, while the third was trying to roll fresh sushi. In the center of it all was a life-sized chocolate statue of Francis himself, naked and lounging on a dark-chocolate couch that looked exactly like the one not three feet away. But on the couch that was _not_ made of chocolate…

“Just—Just leave whatever it is and send the suitor my compliments, comprenez? I will send out thank-you notes tomorrow, just—”

“ _Francis?”_

If the curled, shaking mess on the couch had not jolted up at the sound of his voice, he would not have believed it was the Man of L’amour himself. Immediately the peacocks looked up as well, hissing at him. England almost hissed himself. Francis’ eyes were red and puffy, his nose was twice its usual size, and he had… what appeared to be rashes forming on his neck and arms.

“Arthur!” Francis gasped, his voice sounding scratchy, nasally. “I—I’ve told you many times, I will not see you on Valentine’s Day! I—I am just far too busy, and—”

“Francis, what the devil has happened to you?” England asked, stepping into the room and nearly tripping over a heart-shaped bucket filled with fish. He stumbled past it, and found purchase by grabbing hold of a pomegranate tree that had been placed just behind the real Francis’ couch. Chocolate Francis sat across from them, smiling seductively, a mockery of the sad, flesh and blood one currently shaking on the couch.

“ _This Day_ , of course.” The real Francis whimpered bitterly, waving a hand to the menagerie. “The flowers, the candy, the gifts… l’amour! Today is the day we show affection for our special someones, but what does one do when their special someone is _everyone_?! I have been receiving these flowers all day! I can barely breathe! And chocolate, Mon Dieu, I will be eating nothing _but_ chocolate for the next month! I must sort it by its expiration date, I suppose. The chefs—they are trying to kill each other in my kitchen! I’m not sure where the fourth one went, but I did hear a scream. And don’t even get me started on—AIGH!” He broke out in a scream as one of the peacocks took his hand for an appetizer and chomped down on one of his fingers.

“Oh—Dear God!” Arthur shouted, flapping his hands and finally trying to reach in and pry the peacock’s beak open. After several seconds of screaming and panic, they finally managed to get Fran’s finger loose, and the peacock strutted away in a huff.

Letting out a moan of despair, France let his head fall back to his couch and waved his bloody finger. “You _see_? Now leave me alone! I can’t even breathe enough to scream at you! Just go away—I’m a complete mess!”

Staring for a long, sad moment, England threw his bouquet aside and pulled the sniffling Francis into his arms. “Don’t ever say that, love. I think you look perfect.” He sighed, dropping to the couch and running his fingers through that luscious golden hair. Francis was tense for a moment, but he settled his head into his lap and stayed, sniffling and rubbing his nose. “Obviously we need to do something about all this—”

“Non!” Francis cried, voice filled with even more despair. “How can I get rid of tokens of love?! What will they think of me?! I must accept them all, with gratitude, Arthur, or risk mortally wounding a lover’s heart!”

Letting out a blustering sigh, England looked down at his dear, most beloved enemy and suddenly felt very guilty for all the times he’d wished he could see him so pathetic. Truly, it wasn’t fair. Francis loved the world, the world loved Francis. It was a completely faithful love affair that had lasted for centuries, because quite frankly, no one could rein France in, and no one wanted to. That he should suffer for it on this of all days was a little… sad.

He took out his phone. “Well, there is only one nation I know that can eat this much chocolate in one sitting.” He said curtly—and dialed.

\--

“Well, that about does it.” America grinned as the lovebirds were carted off by the last delivery man of the day, twittering in their cages as if the world was ending. The parlor was nearly empty now, all thanks to the art and science of regifting, which Francis now officially no longer considered tasteless.

It was all a wonderful plan, actually, and they had Mattie to thank for it. The minute Canada arrived, arm-in-arm with his Valentine and brother-nation, he’d noted that the fur coat sent by Russia looked like something Hungary would wear. Once they’d made that connection, others followed. They’d moved the flowers out to the garden and had them planted or left to compost, depending on their state. Then they began the regifting bonanza. The sushi chef was sent to Seychelles, the Chinese banquet chef to Korea. The fountain from Italy was dismantled and sent, with its swans, to Finland and Sweden, whom would most-likely erect it in their back yard. The Austrian string quartet was sent to the Baltics, whom apparently very much enjoyed music when Russia let them listen. The bucket of fish from Seychelles went to Greece, Greece’s kittens went to Italy, Germany’s puppies went to Spain. One by one, each item found a new home, and was sent off with a carefully worded hand-written Valentine: “Mon Ami, please accept this gift but do not show it to anyone. I do not wish it known that I am playing favorites. With all my heart, Francis.”

Now they were left with the only thing they couldn’t regift: the lifesize chocolate Francis. Which wasn’t so bad considering America was going through the chocolate like a freaking black hole of hunger. “So Dude, you get this much chocolate _every year_? Oh, I’m so coming early next year. We’re throwing a fondue party. Freaking awesome. _Yes._ ”

“You know—um. That’s really France’s.” Canada tried, reaching out to take the box of truffles away from him.

“Oh, yeah, want one?” Alf offered. Canada sighed, looking to France, whom was feeling much better with all the flowers out of the house. He waved a permissive hand, and Canada took a truffle, smiling a little to himself.

“Well, at least your eyes aren’t so watery.” England noted, reaching up to brush the hair out Frannie’s face. He looked much better.

“Yes, merci, mon chouchous.” Francis grinned, feeling better than he had all day. He kissed England’s cheek, then reached up for America and Canada. “You have saved the day. You are my heroes.”

America accepted the kisses graciously, grinning wide. “Yeah, yeah, what else is new?”

Canada blushed, linking his arm through Alf’s and leaning against him. “This is definitely not what I thought you’d be like on Valentine’s Day, Fran, I’ve gotta say.” Laughing a little, he turned back to the statue and smiled. “Now _that_ looks more like how I expected you to look.”

“Oh, but mes amours, ‘e is not _half_ as lovely as I am.” France sniffed, drawing himself up in faux snobbery.

They laughed for a moment, but finally Canada sighed, staring at the thing with no little frustration. After all, they’d gotten rid of everything else… “What the hell are we going to do with this thing?”

Contemplating it for a moment, Francis stared at the chocolate sculpture and frowned. “I have no…”

He trailed off as Alfred moved, stepping up to the statue. He walked around it, examined it, then ran a finger up chocolate Francis’ arm to his shoulder. “This is pure chocolate, right?” He asked, leaning down and nibbling its left ear.

The real Francis raised his eyebrows. “Indeed.” He said, his voice going slightly unsteady as he watched Alf nibble at that chocolate ear. “I am not sure even you could eat all of that, Alfred.”

Blinking at that tone, Alf looked up and met Francis’ eyes. A simmering look passed between them, so hot that it made Francis lose his breath again.

“I can try.” Alf said softly, looking to Mattie and crooking a finger, inviting him over.

“Oh Maple…” Mattie sighed, but he was grinning as he approached the statue, dropping to his knees by the couch and licking, nibbling chocolate fingers resting on a dark chocolate armrest. Above him, Alfred took off his shirt, his tongue trailing down that statue’s neck, licking and sucking and nibbling in weak places, creating craters with his teeth.

“Mon Dieu.” Francis whispered on the opposing couch, curled in England’s lap but watching, riveted, one leg crossing over the other. It was quite a sight, seeing these two boys lovingly lick and suck and nip his own chocolate form. This must be what Iggy feels like when he watches them… though he’s not quite sure if it’s possible for Arthur to be as turned on as he is right now. Alfred’s hot pink tongue dragged over his shoulder, arms winding around the body and hands dragging over his chocolate pecs. Mattie dropped his shirt to the floor and began nibbling away at the fingers, his hands caressing up chocolate France’s thighs.

“S’good.” Alfred murmured, his lips already covered in melted chocolate. His hands were getting there too, but he didn’t care. This was fun, France watching was fun. And Mattie in the scene made it twice as hot. He looked up, meeting France’s gaze and watching him shift against Iggy. “Right Mattie?” He asked, stroking is hands up to the little chocolate nipple nubs and rubbing them until they started to melt.

“Nothing’s better.” Mattie replied, lips dark with their treat as he dragged his tongue up that sculpted chest, tasting the chocolate molded muscle as seductively as he would Frannie’s real body. “Except…”

“Yeah.” Alf murmured, leaning around the statue to kiss Mattie’s mouth, long and easy, grinning against it as he heard Francis groan. He didn’t have to look to know what England was doing to make Frannie sound like that.

There were very few things that could make Frannie hotter than this. And they _all_ involved Iggy.

Pulling away from the kiss with a soft moan, Alf fell to his knees and joined Mattie between the statue’s legs, his hand palming the front of Mattie’s jeans.  He _was_ his Valentine, after all. “Let’s do this right.” He murmured, grinning wide at Mattie’s shocked gasp. Maybe he thought Alf had forgotten. Just to prove he hadn’t, he reached out and pulled Mattie’s jeans open. “For Valentine’s.”

Blushing from head to toe, Mattie ducked his head, biting his lower lip to keep from hissing at the contact. He could taste nothing but chocolate now, and feel nothing but Alf. So he leaned up and started licking chocolate France’s erection, his tongue following its lines in long strokes. Alf took his lead, leaning in to take the other side, and soon they were licking and sucking as they would if they were worshiping the real live France. Their tongues met and slid over one another, always coming back to that chocolate, but when Alf closed his hand around Mattie’s erection, the more soft-spoken nation let out a noise that made everyone else in the room shudder.

“More-!” Mattie begged, closing his eyes to enjoy the moment. It felt so good to be touched, to be wanted. The chocolate was just a really great bonus. He licked his way up to the head and sucked it, meeting Alf’s lips there, and that’s when they both heard France groan.

Alf turned a little, not quite pulling away, and grinned as he found France and England watching riveted, curled into each other on that couch and… moving. Thrusting. Groin to groin. So he made a show of it, licking into Mattie’s mouth and rubbing his chocolate covered hand over that heavy erection already peeking out from his pants.

About thirty seconds in, Mattie finally got with the program and pulled down Alf’s zipper, undoing his fly. Soon they were working each other, fingers covered in melted chocolate as their tongues smoothed up and down the milk-chocolate cock they were tasting. With a wet noise, Alf pulled back and used his free hand to take Mattie by his hair-curl. “All yours, Valentine.” He laughed, tugging at the curl until Mattie groaned around that chocolate, sucking it in down to the base of the shaft. He proceeded to suck it on his own, treating it as he’s treated the real France for centuries now. But Alf had something more in mind.

Moving behind Mattie, he pulled the other nation’s jeans halfway down his thighs and dropped down a little lower to drag his tongue up between his cleft. Mattie gasped, and let out a wet, urgent groan around that chocolate erection. The sound was enough to turn Alf on twice as hard. It was amazing, how hot Mattie was when he was being tortured like this. He stroked him, long, slow strokes as his tongue teased his hole, mercilessly.

Now _that’s_ how you celebrate Valentine’s Day.

\--

“Hey, Dude!” Denmark cried as he came running into Norway’s room, practically spinning with glee. “Guess what France sent us for Valentine’s Day?”

“Macarons?” Norge asked, not looking up from his book.

It is only when he heard the loudest, most obnoxious honking sound on the planet that he looked up and found himself nose-to-beak with…

“Matt…” Norge began, throwing himself back in his seat. “What the _hell_ …”

“It’s a _PEACOCK!”_ Denmark yelled, clapping his hands together. “They’re like birds! But they can’t fly. BUT, they’ve got a really cool tail with all these—”

“I _KNOW.”_ Norge heard himself yell, an octave higher than he normally would’ve. The peacock was staring at him. Just… Staring. “ _Why_?”

“They were France’s Valentine presents this year! There’s _two_! Isn’t that _awesome_?”

“No. No, it’s not. It’s really not, because now it’s looking at me very, very oddly and—AIGH! OWE! OWE, FUCKING OWE!!”


End file.
